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Chapter Text

Elowyn's heart drummed in her ears as she stared at a wooden box before her. Inside the box lay what she came for. Two guards wailed on the floor, a small puddle of blood growing under them. Knowing her cuts were precise enough to not cause death, Elowyn stepped over them without a second glance.

She sheathed her bloody sword, and with trembling fingers, she finally opened the box. Its inside revealed an old piece of paper. It was filled with ancient writing, and an intricate map was drawn in the middle of it. A map, which was rumored to lead to a source of immense power. Power she wanted. Elowyn smiled triumphantly as she hid the paper in her pocket. She had succeeded. Soon, she'd have everything she had ever wanted. She turned to leave as sound came behind her. A cold chill went down her spine.

Damn it.

She didn't turn to look back as she sprinted for the exit, bursting through the back door into the cold evening. But she wasn't alone. A figure emerged from the shadows behind her—tall, broad, with a sword slung across his back. A witcher.

Elowyn cursed under her breath. She didn't have time for this.

She ran, the cobblestone streets of the village blurring at the fast pace. The wind whipped at her hood, sending her wavy blonde hair flying behind her. The sounds of the village—the laughter, the distant chatter—faded as she focused solely on the escape. But the heavy footfalls behind her told her all she needed to know. The witcher was gaining on her, closing the distance with ease.

Risking a glance over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of his golden eyes locking onto her. Drawing in the little magic she could, she casted a quick spell at him. It took more effort than it used to, but she tried to not let it bother her. Soon, if she could escape him, she'd be able to cast spells so strong she'd never have to feel weak again. But the witcher dodged the spell with ease, his white hair flaring in the wind as he rushed forward. A hint of anxiety curled in her stomach.

There was no escaping him. Not like this.

Elowyn turned sharply, her boots skidding on the stones as she slipped into a narrow alleyway. Her mind raced for an escape as the sound of the witcher's footsteps echoed close behind her. If she could reach the edge of the village, she could disappear into the woods.

Yet her thoughts shattered quickly as she was forced to stop on her heels. A tall, broad stone wall gleamed before her. A dead end. Elowyn's heart sank. She spun around, a dizzy rush of panic surging through her veins. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.

The Witcher was already behind her, blocking the narrow alley and her only escape. His broad figure loomed in the dim light, creating a large shadow on the ground. Elowyn faced him, instinctively drawing her sword.

"Looks like you're in a bit of trouble, thief," he said, his voice a soft whisper. The words lingered in the cold night air, crawling under her skin and making her feel trapped in more ways than one. She straightened her spine, trying to hide the unease curling in her stomach.

"Get out of my way, witcher," she hissed, her voice coming out stronger than she felt.

The Witcher grunted in response as he took a step closer, the dim light now revealing his face. Long white strands of hair shifted in the faint breeze, framing a face that was both weathered and handsome. But it was his eyes—those intense, golden eyes, gleaming with a cat-like sharpness—that froze her in place. They bore into her, reading her more clearly than she was comfortable with.

"You've involved yourself in a serious matter," he finally said, his low voice almost like a warning. A silver medallion shimmered on his chest with a wolf's head carved in it, its mouth opened in a silent snarl. The sight of it made her grip tighten around her sword and the hilt bit into her palm.

"Give me the map, and I'll let you go," he offered, stretching out his palm. Elowyn scoffed as she looked down at his hand.

"Move out of my way, and I'll let you go," she spat, contemplating if she should just cut off his hand. She'd never give the map without a fight.

The Witcher drew back his hand. He furrowed his brows, a hint of frustration flashing on his face. "There's no need to cross swords," he warned, his golden eyes boring into her. Elowyn was sure he could see straight through her pretended bravery.

"You don't threaten me," she lied, holding his gaze. The words were more like a reminder to her.

The Witcher didn't respond as he moved closer, his leather armor creaking from the movement. Elowyn tried to stay still though her whole body urged her to take a step back.

"You're on a dangerous mission, girl," he then said, his voice lowering. His narrowed eyes brushed over her, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Who sent you?"

A flicker of anger pushed through her fear, and she shifted her sword in front of her. "I work alone," she snapped, her cold voice carrying through the alley.

The Witcher clenched his jaw, the muscles shifting under his skin. His sword still rested on his back, but Elowyn didn't let it fool her. She knew he could draw it in an instant.

"Why did you want that map?" he asked suddenly, his voice sharpening. His eyes lingered on her face, investigating her. There was something unnerving in the way he looked at her, like he was searching for something, waiting for her to crack.

"It's none of your business," she replied sharply. The piece of paper lay in her pocket, the slight press against her tight reminding of its presence. She was glad she had hidden it, but she still needed to escape him. Her gaze darted to the alley behind him. If she could get past him... just one little opening.

"If you're thinking of escaping," he interrupted her, as if reading her thoughts, "you're greatly overestimating yourself." His raspy voice rumbled in the air as he stepped closer. His broad figure towered before her, filling the small space between them.

Elowyn shot her eyes back to the Witcher's as a spark of anger jolted through her. Who the hell does this man think he is?

"I think," she said, her voice dropping to a cold whisper as a slow smile crept onto her lips, "you're greatly underestimating me." She tilted her sword, the blade almost touching his chest. She wondered how hard she'd have to push to pierce the thick leather covering it.

The Witcher didn't flinch, didn't so much as bat an eyelid. He stared down at her, a corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

"You think waving a sword in my face will scare me?" His tone was mocking. Elowyn glared at him, pursing her lips. He was clearly not taking her seriously.

"And you think you'll scare me?" she shot back, raising her brow. "I've seen far worse than some monster-slaying fool." Her words were biting, and she searched for some flicker of reaction on him. His face remained unreadable, frustratingly calm. He slightly raised his brow as his face hardened, and Elowyn sensed their verbal battle was coming to an end.

"Why did you steal the map?" he demanded again, emphasizing each word as he leaned closer. His tone left no room for argument.

"I don't need to explain myself to a Witcher," Elowyn spat, keeping her sword steady between them. The tension grew visibly thicker as his expression tightened. His presence was heavy, threatening before her. He then stepped back, his movements sharp. In one swift motion, his sword was out, the gleaming blade pointed at her.

"Then let's cut to the chase," he snarled, his voice lowering. "You stole something from me. And I want it back." His offer for peace was long gone, and the investigation in his gaze was replaced with a sharp, unyielding glare.

Elowyn bettered her grip on the sword. She was running out of options, and the Witcher was clearly weighing his.

Then, without warning, he lunged forward. Elowyn quickly dodged his hit, their swords clashing with a sharp, ringing clang that echoed through the alley. Steadying her steps under her, she lunged back at him, her heavy sword cutting the air as it swung towards him. He moved with unnatural speed as he dodged the sword and regained his position, pointing his sword at her again.

He was faster than she could react, and before Elowyn knew what happened, he hit her wrist. She hissed through her teeth, the pain spreading in her arm. Her sword clattered to the ground with a harsh, metallic clang, the sound echoing in the evening.

In a blink of an eye, the Witcher shoved her against the wall, his cold sword pressing against her throat. The stone wall smacked against Elowyn's head, and she gasped for air, trying to hide her pain.

"Any last words?" the Witcher asked, raising his brow. His blade bit just enough to draw a trickle of blood.

Elowyn swallowed. She had been in this situation countless times, but never had she been so unsure of herself. His broad figure pressed against her, his face only inches away. His golden eyes bore into her, the intensity in them making her knees falter. She hated it. And she hated how his presence overwhelmed her every sense. She tried to hide it, to stay calm as her mind raced. She had gotten out of this situation multiple times, she could do it once more.

"You're not the first one to ask that," she laughed coldly, her voice unexpectedly steady. Though she masked her fear well, she was sure the Witcher could sense it.

His brow arched slightly, a flicker of amusement glinting in his eyes. "I will be the last." The words sounded like a certain promise, so much that Elowyn almost believed him.

"I dare to doubt that, Witcher." The words rang hollow, and the sharp press of his blade on her throat told her she might not be so lucky this time. Slowly, her hand reached for a dagger at her waist. Desperation filled her chest but she refused to let him see it.

He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing over her face. Elowyn tensed at the sensation, a scent of leather and firewood filling her nose.

"Now tell me," he said softly, tilting his head, "where's the map?" He narrowed his eyes, his heavy body shifting against hers. Elowyn avoided his gaze as she tried to shift her focus away from the warmth radiating from his body.

"Go to hell," she hissed, her voice coming out weaker than she would've liked.

The Witcher pursed his lips. He grunted, clearly annoyed and then, without a word, his hand reached into her pocket. His fingers brushed against her hip as he pulled out the folded piece of paper.

Elowyn stiffened, her eyes widening at the sight of the paper. Fury boiled beneath her, but she couldn't do anything. She couldn't reach for the map without his blade slicing her throat.
"This is what you risked everything for?" he asked, unfolding the map with deft fingers. His eyes flickered between the paper and her, a hint of skepticism beneath his cold demeanor. The blade shifted on her throat, and his gaze sized her up, as if he was waiting for the right moment to slash her throat.

Elowyn didn't stop to wait. Her hand darted forward, thrusting the dagger into his chest. The blade sank in, making him flinch. Elowyn took the opportunity. She kicked him out of her way, and then, spinning on her heel, she bolted, running through the twisting alleys without looking back.

She left the Witcher, along with the map, behind her. A bitter taste filled her mouth as she ran. She had escaped him, but the price was high. She had been so close to getting the map. But getting it back from a witcher was a whole other game. One she wasn't sure she even wanted to take part in. But she knew had to, if she wanted her powers back.

Chapter Text

It was already late in the night when Elowyn was finally back at the castle of Oxenfurt. The city of Oxenfurt, known for its university and rivalries, was bustling even at this hour. The sounds of its lively night faded as Elowyn entered the castle.

She had grown up in similar castles all across Redania after orphaning at a young age. Raised in the shadow of Redania’s royalty, she had received training on both her swordsmanship and her magic, though the latter had faded significantly after losing her parents. Now, at twenty, she worked for the king. Spying, assassinations, hunting—it didn't matter what she was asked to do. She excelled at it.

Rushing through the familiar hallways, Elowyn wondered what the King would do if he knew about her plans for the map. Yet her thoughts were interrupted as a sound of footsteps approached her from behind.

"Where have you been?" Philippa Eilhart's voice, stern yet curious, echoed in the hall. Elowyn turned to face the sorceress, quickly casting a smile.
"You know, just out." Elowyn replied with a shrug, keeping her tone casual. The sorceress's eyes inspected Elowyn carefully, her expression somewhat shocked at Elowyn’s rugged appearance. Elowyn tried to stay calm. She trusted Philippa—after all, the sorceress had trained her for years in the art of magic. But even so, there were some things Elowyn preferred to keep hidden, the map among them.

Philippa's gaze lingered on the blood staining Elowyn's clothes, her expression flickering between concern and suspicion. "Alright," she finally said, not believing her but not making any further questions. Philippa, if anyone, could understand keeping certain things concealed. Her black hair shimmered in the candlelight as she stepped closer, her elegant dress shifting along her. Elowyn couldn't help but admire the woman's grace and confidence- she could only dream of acquiring such qualities. Let alone the magic the woman possessed.

"You should clean yourself up—and quickly," Philippa suggested, wrinkling her nose at Elowyn's state. "Dijkstra called for a meeting in twenty minutes."

"In twenty minutes?" Elowyn blurted, trying to flatten her hair. "At this time of night! Whatever for?" she questioned, looking down at her bloody clothes.

"There's been a report of a witcher in the city. The King wants to meet him, but we haven't been able to find him. Dijkstra's already got some drunken bard for questioning." Philippa's tone was matter-of-fact, but Elowyn's heart skipped a beat.

A witcher? It could not be the same one. No way.

She stiffly nodded in acknowledgment as Philippa's eyes flicked to the wound on her throat.

"You should be more careful," she warned, her voice softening. "We cannot afford to lose you."

Elowyn gave a brief, embarrassed nod before turning away, hurrying toward her chambers.

Twenty minutes later, Elowyn stared at herself in the mirror. She had brushed her hair and tied it on a bun, yet small, wavy strands decorated her tired face. It was drained and pale, her bright blue eyes being the only source of color. She clearly needed rest. Her bloody clothing was gone, replaced with a more formal attire. The only proof of her fighting and failure was the thin red line on her throat and a bandage on her wrist. The bitter feeling of disappointment and devastation settled on her heart, but she fought against the coming tears as she rushed out of her room towards the council chambers. She could hold on a little longer.

The meeting had already started when Elowyn arrived there. A long oak table stood in the center of the room, with Dijkstra and Philippa seated on one side and the bard on the other. Elowyn immediately recognised him from the multiple bars he had sung his terrible songs. She entered the chamber, and all three of them turned to look at her as she seated herself next to Philippa. Dijkstra threw her a disapproving look but did not comment on her late arrival.

"Elowyn, this is Jaskier. He has agreed to help us to find the witcher." Philippa explained, casting a cold look towards the bard. He responded with an infuriating wink in Elowyn's direction, and she suppressed the urge to punch him. Dressed in a ridiculous, oversized tunic with more colors than Elowyn could count, he looked like a peacock gone mad. His face was sweaty, either from his lively night out or from the suspenseful meeting.

"Actually, I have not agreed. I'm here completely against my will." Jaskier corrected, raising his finger dramatically. His speech was slurred, indicating he was clearly intoxicated. "I was having a blast out there before you dragged me into this boring castle. Oh, the joy to be had here! Truly, what a beautiful city..." He waved his hands around, as if trying to conjure up the excitement he was missing.

Dijkstra clenched his jaw, his fingers impatiently tapping the wooden table. "Yes, yes. Now let's get to the point, shall we?" His tone was sharp, cutting through the bards babble. Dijkstra was one of the best negotiators Elowyn knew. Jaskier seemed to know it as well as he quieted down immediately, his eyes wandering towards the door.

"A certain witcher has been seen in the city. Where is he?" Dijkstra asked, leaning forwards on the table.

"A witcher? In the city? I hear many things, this and that, but nothing of such," Jaskier stammered, his eyes shifting everywhere but on Dijkstra. He was clearly lying. Elowyn sighed, leaning back on her seat. This was going to be a long meeting. "But you know, there are many other people in the city, too. Perhaps you should ask them," the bard suggested, fingering the long sleeve of his tunic. His tone was easy and teasing, but his body was tense.

"You'll make it easier on all of us, Jaskier, if you simply tell us," Dijkstra replied, holding the bard's gaze.

Jaskier avoided his gaze, glancing nervously around the room as if searching something. "You don't happen to have some wine, do you?" he asked suddenly, and Elowyn wanted to punch him again. Philippa sighed beside her, her expression tightening. The bard continued, oblivious to the growing tension, "I'm starting to come down from mine, and it certainly would make this a lot more enjoyable. Besides, it's been a while since I've had any good royal wine. What's the secret behind its greatness— is it the—"

"Oh please, just shut up." Elowyn snapped, shifting in her seat. "You talk a whole lot of shit, bard," she snarled, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Yes, Jaskier, and we haven't got all night," Philippa added, crossing her hands. Jaskier grew quiet again. Dijkstra pushed his chair back with a loud scrape and retrieved a bottle of wine from one of the cabinets, placing it on the table with a loud thud. The bard's eyes brightened at the sight.

"You know, we do have other methods of questioning," Djikstra hinted, his voice elusive as he slowly leaned against the table next to him. Jaskier's face grew pale, and he hesitated to touch the wine before him.

"Fine. He was here a few days ago but he left. Haven't seen him since," he admitted. His voice was a little weak, the teasing tone gone. For a second Elowyn felt bad for him, but she didn't believe a thing the bard said.

Dijkstra evaluated the bard's words. Then he smiled viciously, reaching for the wine bottle. "Very well. When you do see him, could you let him know the King wants to meet him?"

Jaskier nodded in relief. "Yes, I will pass your message. Gladly," he said, his words coming out in a rush.

Dijkstra poured himself a glass of wine, swirling it with amusement before raising it to his lips.

"Well, thank you Jaskier. Philippa, if you would be so kind as to escort our guest out."

Jaskier needed no encouragement. He scrambled out of his chair, nearly knocking it over as Philippa rose to lead him out. The door shut behind them, leaving Dijkstra and Elowyn alone.

"He was lying," Elowyn started as soon as they were gone. Dijkstra nodded, sipping his wine.

"Yes, he was," he confirmed, pouring another cup and handing it to her. She accepted it gratefully, the sweet, warm liquid filling her mouth as she took a sip.

"Then why did you let him go?" she asked, still confused. The wine warmed her body and calmed her tense nerves. In a few seconds she had finished it. Dijkstra raised his brows at the empty cup, his face slightly amused as he poured her another.

"Because, eventually he will lead us to him on his own," he explained, sitting down across from Elowyn. "He'is not the brightest, as you may have noticed," he continued, his tone more casual now, "which is why you shall track him," he concluded, his eyes now on Elowyn. She sighed, placing the now full cup on the table.

"For how long?"
"Until you find the Witcher and bring him to the king."

Chapter Text

Elowyn’s feet slipped on the roof as she quietly peeked inside a window of a tavern. It was the same window Jaskier had used earlier that day, and Elowyn knew it was where the Witcher stayed. A table sat just beneath the window, and a dark green robe lay on the floor. Elowyn tensed—medical students from the university wore those robes. There was someone else in the room too, then.

With a quick motion, she kicked the window open and dropped onto the table. She landed in a warm, dimly lit room, a smell of candles and sweat filling her nose. A high-pitched yelp came from before her, and her eyes shot to the bed at the corner of the room. She was faced with two pairs of eyes staring at her: one wide and frightened, belonging to a young woman, and the other, cold and golden, belonging to someone all too familiar.

Elowyn cursed under her breath. Of course it was him—the white-haired witcher.

Recognition flickered in his gaze as a knife appeared in his hand, but Elowyn only rolled her eyes at the sight as she dropped down from the table. Pathetic. They were both covered in sweat, a thin sheet barely covering their bodies. There was no doubt about what they had been doing. Elowyn pursed her lips, the disgust clear in her narrowed eyes.

"Elowyn! What are you doing here?" the girl's small voice wavered across the room. Elowyn immediately recognised the girl from Oxenfurt University. Shani.

"Well hello, Shani." Elowyn's tone was laced with sarcasm. "I'd say I'm surprised to see you here, but I'm really not." Shani's gaze shifted awkwardly as she reached for her clothes.

Elowyn turned her attention back to the witcher, keeping her expression neutral despite his bare body, the sheet barely covering his waist. She forced her gaze to stay on his face. His posture was tense, and a hint of surprise was evident on his face; she had caught him off guard. Elowyn's lips twisted slightly, and the nervousness in her stomach eased a little. She was one step ahead of him.

"Why are you in Oxenfurt, Witcher?" she inquired as she stepped closer to the bed, the wooden floor squeaking under her boots. The witcher remained still, the flicker of surprise now gone from his stoned face.

"Why are you in my room, thief?" he asked back, raising a brow. His voice was hoarse and out of breath. Sweat glinted on his forehead, and the white hair falling on his shoulders was messier than usual. He looked strangely handsome. Elowyn tried her best to ignore it.

"Are you here to kill Geralt?" Shani's fragile voice came from the corner.

Elowyn's eyes shot to the girl, her previous thoughts long gone as his name echoed in her ears. Geralt. Of course . Geralt of Rivia. She had heard it before—whispered in the streets, sung about in bars, and spat with fear in taverns. And she had heard him called by many names: Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken. She should've recognised him from his hair.

"Are you?" Shani asked again, fully dressed now.

Elowyn quickly masked her surprise. "Though I'm positively delighted by your presence, Shani, perhaps it's time you left." Her tone was cold and dismissive. The girl did not need to be asked twice. She got up in a rush and gathered her robe from the floor. Before leaving the room she quickly winked at Geralt, making Elowyn wrinkle her nose in disdain.

The door slammed behind Shani and Elowyn turned her gaze back to the witcher. His golden eyes bore into hers with the same unnerving intensity as it did a few days ago in the alley. And though she had the upper hand in this situation, a flicker of uneasiness curled in her stomach as she stared down at him.

"Well?" He asked, his low, raspy voice echoing in the suddenly quiet room. "Are you here to kill me?"

Elowyn's lips curved into a sly smile. "Unfortunately, no," she said, and then added "at least not yet." The weight of her sword rested on her back, but she didn't draw it. Not yet.

"Then you're after the map." Geralt's tone darkened. His face remained impassive but his hand was gripping the knife tightly.

"No." Elowyn's reply was curt, though she couldn't help the bitterness that rose in her chest. The memory of her failure still stung.

A hint of confusion flickered across Geralt's face as he sat up, his muscular frame casting a large shadow in the candlelight. The dim light shone from his bare chest, revealing the many scars crossing his skin. Freya's eyes lingered a moment longer than she would've liked.

"Then why are you here?" His voice brought her back to the present.

Elowyn began pacing the room, her steps deliberately slow. "My reason depends entirely on how this conversation goes." Her gaze darted briefly toward a small table cluttered with papers. No sign of the map, yet. The witchers' swords lay on the other side of the room, far from his reach.

"I'm here on King Vizimir's request." She turned around to face him, searching for his reaction.

Geralt's expression hardened. "So, you did lie. You don't work alone."

Elowyn clenched her fists, her sharp gaze now boring into the witcher's.

"I did not lie. I did and I do work alone," she spat, her voice colder. "But right now I'm here for the King."

Geralt clenched his jaw, not responding to her. The sheet shifted slightly on his lap as he made a move to get up. Elowyn's hand immediately shot towards her sword, the gesture causing him to pause.

Elowyn's shoulders relaxed in response, and she finally let her gaze brush over him. The candlelight traced the lines of his scars and muscles, creating soft shadows on his body. Her eyes drifted lower to his stomach and momentarily stopped on his lap where the thin sheet met his skin. In better lighting, she could probably see through the- She quickly stopped her thoughts, her face growing hot. She shot her eyes back to his, trying to keep her face unbothered. He raised his brow at her, a corner of his mouth twitching up slightly, so slightly Elowyn wasn't sure if she was just imagining it.

"The king" -Elowyn continued, her tone clearly annoyed now-"wishes to see you." She picked up clothes from the floor and threw them at Geralt. "Put on some clothes."

A hint of amusement flickered on his face as he reached for his trousers.

"Regarding what?"

"Well, you can't blame a king wanting to see a witcher when one visits his town, can you?" She smirked, toying with the edge of her tunic as he dressed. "Especially when one visits his town in secret," she continued, starting to walk around the room. "That little bard of yours is a terrible liar, claiming you had already left the town. Yet here you are." She turned around, catching a glimpse of his stomach as he put on his shirt.

"Leave Jaskier out of this," he stated, his teeth clenched.

Elowyn scoffed. "Couldn't agree more. He's as terrible a spy as he is a singer."

"Get to the point," Geralt growled, though his tone remained measured.

Elowyn narrowed his eyes at him. "The King has a job for you. And it's urgent." Her tone was growing more impatient. She watched as Geralt stiffened again, his expression doubting.

"I don't take jobs from kings. Especially from ones who send spies in my room," he snarled in annoyance, glaring at her. "Tell your king to fuck off."

Elowyn grit her teeth as she finally drew her sword slowly. "Unfortunately, I'm not here to ask."

Geralt's gaze drifted to his swords in the corner.

"But perhaps," Elowyn suddenly said, her voice lowering, "I never found you." Geralt's eyes slowly met hers. "Perhaps, by the time I arrived, you were already gone," she whispered, stepping closer to him. Realization flashed in his eyes.

"You want the map."

"Quite right."

"I'm not gonna give it to you."

Elowyn's jaw clenched. "Then you'll see the king."

Geralt's unyielding stare bore into her as he slowly stepped closer, the wooden floor cracking under his weight. The unease settled back into her stomach as the distance shortened between them. Elowyn could almost feel his heavy presence washing over her. A hint of leather and firewood filled the air, making her shudder. The witcher narrowed his eyes, and the intensity in them made Elowyn's pulse quicken. She was sure he could see straight through her.

"Tell me why you want the map," his voice rumbled, "and I'll meet the king."

Elowyn raised her brows, her hand gripping the sword. "I'll do no such thing," she said, and in an instant her sword was on his throat. A triumphant smile spread on her face.

"You'll see the king, Witcher, or I'll cut your throat right here" her voice was sweet and poisonous as she pressed the blade against his throat ,drawing a thin line of blood.

Geralt, unbothered by the blade or the blood, smiled.

"So you do the king's dirty work?" he asked.

"I wouldn't call it dirty," Elowyn replied sharply, frustrated by his calmness.

"I wouldn't call it clean, what you did to the guards in the chapel."

"Oh, it was clean. And like I said, it was my own work," Elowyn spat, and continued, "had it been the kings, they'd be dead." Geralt's eyes flickered with something unreadable, but before Elowyn could figure out what it was, it was gone.

Then his expression darkened. "It takes years to learn to cut like that, with such precision. You must've done a lot of dirty work to learn it."

"Perhaps," she smiled, twisting the sword slightly and drawing more blood. "But don't expect me to treat you with such precision."

"Wasn't counting on it."

"Good. So, you'll see the king tomorrow, " she stated, her eyes boring into his. He grunted, but eventually nodded.

Elowyn, satisfied, pulled the sword slowly back. She stepped back toward the window, her eyes never leaving him.

"If I catch you fleeing, I'll put this sword through your heart, Witcher," she warned, a slow smirk crossing her lips. "With precision."

And with that, she leapt through the window, disappearing into the night.